


Dark In My Imagination

by kathakoito



Category: Heneral Luna (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-27
Updated: 2017-07-27
Packaged: 2018-12-07 15:39:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11626614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kathakoito/pseuds/kathakoito
Summary: Miong’s twenty-first birthday should have been in one of the metro’s clubs, watching his law school buddies get drunk and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor, as is tradition. He could be lounging on a leather couch right now, while bartenders in heels and tight black dresses danced up to him, holding sparklers and champagne. Instead, he’s surrendering his credit card to a faceless receptionist behind a tinted window. He has just arrived at Club Bound.





	Dark In My Imagination

Miong’s twenty-first birthday should have been in one of the metro’s clubs, watching his law school buddies get drunk and make a fool of themselves on the dance floor, as is tradition. He could be lounging on a leather couch right now, while bartenders in heels and tight black dresses danced up to him, holding sparklers and champagne. Instead, he’s surrendering his credit card to a faceless receptionist behind a tinted window. He has just arrived at Club Bound.

Bound was an invite-only club, exclusive to members of a certain community with a certain desire and the funds to pay for secrecy. Miong’s invite had come from Juan, a high school friend who went on to make a name for himself in the art community.

Juan was strange, sometimes to the point of creepy. Miong had walked into Juan's exhibition dreading conversation with his former schoolmate. He wasn’t an art enthusiast and the possibility of making a fool of himself that day was sky-high. Miong had only contacted Juan about the exhibit because the girl he was interested in at that time was a contemporary art collector, and had immediately agreed on a date with him if it meant meeting the famous Juan Luna. Miong found himself unable to follow most of her interpretation of the art pieces, but he feigned understanding as they journeyed deeper into the exhibit. Finally, they found Juan and she lingered by his side in a way that suggested to Miong that bringing her here was probably not his brightest idea.

After forty minutes of standing by the side and being ignored by his former schoolmate and date, Miong decided to wander off by himself. He came upon a collection of photographs of a bound, nude figure, vivid stripes of red against his skin, his cock erect and dripping precome. He flushed hard and looks around, disconcerted as the rest of the guests viewed it with relative disinterest and moved on. He took a glass of wine off of the server’s tray and gulped down two mouthfuls in quick succession, told himself sternly to be an adult about this. He looked around, wondered if anyone would judge him if he lingered, if anyone familiar would see him and spread the word. He had a momentary panic at the thought that if he logged onto Facebook now, someone had already posted on their school’s secret files page: Emilio Aguinaldo, spotted ogling gay pornography.

He drank another mouthful.

He was grateful for dressing up, his slacks had more give than his jeans, and his blazer was long enough that if he buttoned it, he could hide his crotch. God, what the hell, Miong thought. I’m looking at a naked guy, I shouldn’t have to worry about hiding a boner. I shouldn't have a boner at all.

"Miong.”

Miong whipped around so fast he felt his neck crick. Fuck, he needed to act less guilty. This was art, he reminded himself, not porn.

Juan gave him a nonplussed look and held out another glass of wine. “You look like you could use a drink.”

Miong gratefully took it from him. “Right. Thanks. Did you see my–”

“Date? She was getting clingy. Tonying took her off of my hands.”

Miong nodded. “Sorry. I thought she’d be more chill. She was always standoffish in school.”

Juan shrugged. “You meet a lot of strange people in the art scene.”

Miong looked at the photographs again and thought, no kidding.

“You like these?” Juan asked. He gestured at the photos.

Miong hastily looked behind him and pointed at a strange-looking sculpture. “Actually, I was looking at this… vase?”

“It’s actually a crucifix, Miong, but thank you for the assessment.”

“Right, I like the way you interpreted the crucifix,” Miong mumbled. “Very postmodern.” He cringed and looked at Juan.

Juan was grinning at him. “I’m messing with you. It’s not a crucifix either. You haven’t been looking at that, otherwise you would’ve read the sign. It says ‘horse’ right there. Seriously man, just tell me what you think of the photos.”

Miong groaned. He flushed harder and turned to regard the photos again. “It’s just– I haven’t seen nude art before. I was a bit shocked.”

Juan took a sip of his own wine. “Miong, you’ve been sneaking playboy into class since high school. I find it hard to believe this is the first time you’ve seen nude people.”

Miong sighed. He had counted hard on Juan buying that lie, that it was just the nudity and not the fetishistic aspect of the photo that intrigued him. “What do you want me to say, Juan?”

Juan shrugged. “What do YOU want to say, Miong? It’s my art, and I want your opinion. I don’t want to put words into your mouth.” He glanced at the photos and then back at Miong. “Or maybe you want to ask me something?”

Miong brought the glass to his lips and was surprised to find that he had no more wine. Shit, he needed to watch how much he drank around Juan.

“More wine?” Juan offered as a server passed them.

Miong took it without thinking, and then belatedly wondered if he could just give it back and leave. Juan pinned him with an expectant look.

“I guess I was… I was wondering. Did you do that to him?” Miong asked. He pointed at the red stripes on the man’s pale skin. “Or is that paint?”

“No, I just held the camera,” Juan admitted. “This guy is already someone’s slave. His master really did hit him. It was surreal, actually. He was begging for more the whole session… it was something else.”

Miong frowned. “You watched a guy beat another guy up.”

Juan nodded. “And he was rock hard and panting for more the whole time. Is that what’s tripping you up? Guy in obvious pain also experiencing extreme pleasure?”

Miong swallowed hard. He felt his mouth run faster than his mind. “I get it. BDSM, right? No judgment, if pain gets him off, whatever. I wasn’t born yesterday. I google that shit sometimes.”

Juan laughed. His voice was mocking. “You google that shit sometimes?”

Miong wished he could just shut the fuck up.

“Out of curiosity,” Miong added tersely.

Juan gave him a look of disbelief. “You should look down the hall. There’s more in this series. You get to see his master.”

Miong walked as directed, careful not to seem too eager. He set a forcibly sedate pace.

“Fuck,” Miong whispered to himself when he came upon the slave boy kneeling in front his master, his master grabbing his hair and pulling, making the slave bend and bare his throat, the slave’s mouth forming a perfect 'o’ of surprise.

“How… how did you meet them?” Miong asked, unable to look Juan in the eye.

Juan smirked and reached inside his coat. He withdrew a sleek, black card. “By invite-only, at Club Bound. You have your birthday soon, right? Consider it my gift to you.”

And so for Miong’s birthday and first day at Club Bound, Miong had asked Juan to accompany him. Juan told him to enter the club and he’d be at the corner of the bar.

“i don’t partake,” Juan had told him about the BDSM sessions. “I just enjoy the show.”

Miong had nodded and said, “Yeah me too.” Yeah, he told himself, he just wanted to watch. Nothing wrong with a little curiosity.

Miong wandered into the dimly-lit club and found himself being eyed by a few of the patrons, men and women in leather and lingerie and some in plain work clothes, but even they were dressed to fulfill a certain kink, some subtle powerplay in draping a girl in nothing but a collar in the lap of a woman in a three-piece suit.

He consciously runs a hand down his own suit. Juan had said it was an upscale club and had assured him that a suit would do, but the suit was relaying some sort of message to the patrons, especially to a girl at the table nearest him. She was smiling coyly and brushing her fingers up and down her bare neck as if to say, 'No one owns me yet. Come get me if you want.’

He turned away and headed for the bar, easily spotting Juan who was chatting up the busty bartender and, judging by his hand gestures, complimenting her corset. Miong sat beside him. “Juan, I think I’m in over my head here.”

Juan smiled at him and clapped him on the back. “Birthday boy! You’re here. Tasha, this was the guy I was talking about. He came in at the right time, didn’t he?”

Tasha the bartender smiled kindly at him. “Student, right? Boy, you’re not prepared for what you walked into.”

She turned to Juan. “He’s a dom, right?”

Juan nodded. “At least I think he is.” He turned to Miong. “You’re a dom, right?”

Tasha chuckled. “Juan’s usually not wrong about this; otherwise he’d owe me a pint. So… are you?”

Miong ran a hand through his hair and nodded cautiously. “I mean, dom, I guess, if I had to pick.”

Juan grinned. “Oh, so you know your preference, huh? I thought you were just here to watch?”

Miong groaned. “Oh right, I said that, fuck.”

Tasha chuckled and placed a beer bottle in front of him. “Your friend’s an asshole. He has this way of sniffing out closeted kinksters and bringing them here.”

Juan shrugged. “The art scene is filled with perverts.” He looked at Miong. “Actually, I bet law school is, too.”

Miong thought of his classmates and laughed. “You’re probably not wrong.” He took the beer and sipped, hoping it would give him a bit more courage to navigate this experience. “So, what did I get myself into?”

Tasha excused herself as another customer waved at her. Juan put down his beer. “You brought your credit card, right?”

Miong nodded.

“Try not to shit yourself then. All slave members are up for auction tonight. Attached and unattached. Free for all. You can outbid their master to do whatever you want with them for two hours in the private rooms.”

“Fuck.” Miong replied, imagining what he would do if he won a bid despite his promise to himself that he was only here to watch.

“You’re playing with me.” He accused after a beat.

Juan shook his head. “No, it’s for real. The slaves consented. They’ll go to the highest bidder, no protests. Even if their masters don’t win. There’s still some shows, of course, but the auction is tonight’s highlight.”

The stage lit up and the patrons roared with approval. Miong sat back against the bar, his mind whirring with the possibilities.

Backstage, Pole stood rigid, dressed in a white shift provided by the club, with clasps that unhook at his shoulders. A tall man in leather pants goes down the line of slaves, binding their wrists with rope.

Pole looked around for his friend and finally found her towards the end of the line. He tried to catch her attention by waving, but the tall man was immediately upon him. “What are you trying to do?”

“Sorry,” Pole said as he was retracting his hand. “Just– my friend was over there. She was the one who dragged me here.”

The man squinted down at him. “Right… hold out your wrists, boy.”

Pole held them out obediently. “I was just going to ask her when we got paid. Sorry, do you know?”

The man eyed him critically as he bound his wrist. “This is your first time at Bound?”

Pole nodded.

“And you know what you’re getting yourself into, right?”

Pole nodded again.

“What did your friend tell you about payment?”

“That whatever the, uh, masters pay, fifty percent would go to us?”

The man nodded. “To your membership account. So you don’t have to pay membership fees.”

The color in Pole’s face drained. “Wait, I can’t take the money out?”

The man shook his head and sighed. “How about you have another talk with your friend?”

Pole felt bit lightheaded as he walked out of the line. He had consented to this whole experience in the hopes of getting money, and he couldn't even have that. He walked over to his friend, Nellie, demanding to know exactly how she kept getting money from this club.

To his surprise, Nellie laughed at him. “No, no, you don’t get money from this event. This event is the easiest way to get a master, AND THEN you strike a contract with him or her outside of the club in which you discuss how you will be financially compensated for continuing to be his or her slave after the event. You’ll be surprised at what they’ll give. My first master was old but LOADED.”

Pole forced himself to breathe evenly. “So… it’s an extended contract? Not just a one-time deal?”

Nellie grinned. “You can use the term 'sugar daddy’ if master doesn’t suit you. But yes, technically you’re getting yourself a sugar daddy. And yes, it’s an extended contract in a way, I guess. It’s up to you, for how long you wanna deal with it. It's not like they can make you keep seeing them.”

Pole cringed. “Right. I think I’ll stick with master. Or mistress.” He sighed and eyed the ropes around his wrists. “This is insane.”

Nellie shook her head. “You’re the one who told me you can’t hold a regular job on top of school. If you want money fast, you have to contend with doing something insane.” She grinned. “Besides, you might even enjoy it.”

They turned when they heard the roar of the crowd filtering in through the curtains. The show must have begun. Nellie looked at Pole. “Well, are you in?”

Pole paused for a moment to consider it and then fell in line in front of her.

As the first slave walked onstage, he twisted his wrists nervously, feeling the ropes tighten and loosen against his skin. He distinctly heard the auction occurring. The host was teasing the audience by having the slave show some skin, listing the slave’s kinks, even pointing out the slave’s master in the audience to build tension, and god, the prices. Pole had never seen sixty thousand pesos in his life, much less spent it in one place at once, but out there, someone just bid sixty thousand pesos on a tall, waifish girl, to a roar of approval from the crowd. He wondered what price he’ll get, if anyone would bid on him at all.

“You’re not trying hard enough,” Juan goads when Miong consistently stops bidding at ten thousand pesos.

Miong rolled his eyes. “My parents aren’t blind, they’ll wonder what the fuck I spent a few thousand pesos on.”

“So tell them you bought a Mac and then got so drunk you left it at a bar,” Juan told him flippantly.

Miong did not want to tell him that the excuse would work.

“Tell you what” Juan said. “Bid on whoever you want, and I’ll pay for it for you so you don’t get questions, but you have to get your parents to buy two paintings from me.”

“Your paintings go for over one hundred thousand.”

Juan nodded. “Exactly.”

Miong laughed. Of course Juan would find a way to twist the situation into his favor. “Fucker.”

“What? Christ man, it’s an investment. Don’t you listen to brokers? My shit will appreciate in the next few years. They’ll be thanking you for buying my paintings.” Juan had started slurring, and Miong wondered just how much he had to drink. He was watching the stage too much to pay attention.

“Look, he’s your type, isn’t he? He looks a bit like the guy in the photos, but skinnier,” Juan pointed out as a young man walked onstage with his head bowed.

Miong looked up at the stage and gasped. “Shit, I think I know that guy.”

Juan blinked at him. “What?”

Miong gripped his beer bottle tighter. “We’re from the same school but I don’t know him that well. He’s just… quiet. What the fuck.”

The host began speaking. “Ladies and gents, we have a newbie in our midst. First-timer here at Club Bound. He goes by the name 'Pole’.”

Someone whistled at him from the front row and Pole flushed. He knew there would be quite a few people looking at him, but he hadn't expected over a hundred pairs of eyes.

“Let’s start the bid at five thousand!”

Miong startled when a number immediately shot up in the air. It was from a portly man in a leather vest, and he was eyeing Pole hungrily. Miong frowned down at his bottle. It was none of his business what his classmate did in his personal life.

The bidding lagged at fifteen thousand. The host started circling Pole and removed one of the latches on his shoulder. Pole jumped as the cloth parts to bare half his chest, his exposed nipple peaking at the sudden cold air. A delighted woman squealed, “Twenty!”

“No master yet. No BDSM experience. Willing to be bound, whipped, spanked, to penetrate, to be penetrated, open to vaginal, anal, oral, toys, and exhibition within club premises.” The host listed delightedly.

The numbers started moving again. Juan yelled “thirty five!” and Miong rounded on him, bewildered.

“I know this guy,” Miong hissed.

Juan shrugged. “Whoops. Someone will bid higher anyway. He’s a catch.”

Miong gritted his teeth as someone from the middle of the club indeed bid higher and someone to his left bid higher than that.

Pole looked down at the stage floor, his mind buzzing with numbers. He was no longer following who’s bidding on him. God, he was not worth fifty thousand for two hours, that price was just insane.

Juan chuckled when he notes that a bidding war had started between two of the older patrons. “Look at them. Those two always like them young and easy to break. They’re like that every time a newbie walks in.”

Miong barely made out their face in the shadows, but he already knew he didn't like them.

“Why’re they letting someone with no experience participate in an auction?” Miong asked critically. “Isn’t it better to do this the first time with someone you trust?”

Juan shrugged. “I never said the place was perfect.”

“Sixty!” Miong yelled, startling Juan and even himself. He swept a glare over the audience, daring anyone to outbid him.

The host called it. “Going once! Going twice! Sold to the gentleman in the black suit!”

Juan whistled and the audience clapped and readied for the next slave.

“Damn, thought you didn’t want anyone to know? What’s the plan, Miong?”

Miong rose from his stool and brushed his suit down. “I don’t know yet.”

An usher arrived to fetch him. He followed the man backstage.

Pole was led backstage and down a hall to a set of stairs. He recalled Nellie telling him that he would be taken to the private rooms. He didn’t get a good look at his buyer, a young man, it seemed. He was sitting at the back, by the bar, and his face was shrouded in shadows. He tugged at the ropes on his wrists and hoped for the best.

Pole was taken to the fifth door on the right, a nondescript wooden door that opened to room with a bed and several hooks and chains suspended from the ceiling. He took a deep, calming breath; he was going to have a safeword. There were people here whose sole job was to ensure his safety. Nellie had assured him over and over that this place was safe. He turned and saw a table laden with handcuffs, whips, paddles, and all manners of things that his new master might use on him. He thought for a moment, considering what he could do to make the price tag on him seem reasonable, and then walked to the middle of the room, knelt, and waited.

Miong followed the usher to a downstairs hall of doors. Private rooms, he thought. He was led to the fifth door on the right. They paused.

“He’s in there right now?” He asked.

The usher nodded.

“I have him for two hours?”

“Yes.”

“What if, when he sees me, he decides he wants nothing to do with me?”

The usher frowned. “He has been told that he can press a button by the door, and an employee will come to assess and negotiate the situation between the two of you, whatever the issue may be.”

“And if he presses the button and decides he doesn’t want to go through with this?”

“You will be refunded in full, sir. You both get to walk away.”

Miong nodded. He was not worried about the money at all. He entered the room briskly, but he didn't expect to see Pole on the floor, looking submissively at the ground, wrists still bound in front of him, and one strap still unclasped. He was breathing steadily, but Miong saw him inhale sharply when he stepped forward.

“Pole,” Miong greeted.

Pole instinctively turned and Miong quickly commanded him, “Don’t look up.”

Pole turned his gaze towards the floor again, only able to see up to Miong’s knees.

Miong walked behind him, watching the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slight indents of his spine as he lowered his head to avoid looking at him. He looked at the table and considered the items on it. His hand hovered over the riding crop before settling over the item next to it, a blindfold.

He walked behind Pole again, blindfold in hand. “I will put a blindfold over your eyes. For two hours, you won’t be able to see me or what I do to you. Do you consent?”

Pole nodded.

“I want to hear your voice,” Miong told him.

“Yes, sir.” Pole replied nervously.

Pole saw the black cloth descend over his head. He closed his eyes and resigned himself to whatever his master wanted for the next two hours.

Miong tied the blindfold tightly behind Pole’s head. Once done, he carded his hands over Pole’s hair, messing up where it had been combed into place, unearthing delicate curls.

“When I ask you a question,” Miong said as he took Pole’s hair, and arced him backward just like the slave in the photo. “I want you to answer either yes sir or no sir. Do you understand?”

Pole’s lips parted as he felt the stinging of his scalp. He bent back, following Miong’s hand, gasping “yes, sir” as he felt the ache in his spine.

Miong released his hair and Pole righted himself, straightening his back and breathing deeply in anticipation of what’s next.

“Have you ever subbed for anyone before?” Miong asked as he walked in front of Pole. “Outside of the club, in your private life?”

Pole’s cheeks turned pink. “No,” he admitted. He felt his master grab his jaw, hard, and he realized belatedly that he had spoken incorrectly. “No, sir,” he amended quickly. “I’m sorry, sir.”

Miong loosened his grip. He gently grabbed Pole by the throat and urged him up. He felt Pole swallow against his palm; he was nervous.

“Have you ever been with a man?” Miong asked, tracing down Pole’s neck, his collarbone, his shoulder.

“Yes, sir,” Pole answered quietly.

Miong frowned and took Pole’s bound hands, dragging him so that Pole stumbled forward. He pressed Pole’s hands to his crotch. Somehow, it irritated him to know that Pole had been intimate with another man before and he didn't understand why. Still, he continued. “Good. Show me what you know.”

Miong watched as Pole rubbed his hands over him, straining to get a proper hold with his bound wrists. He breathed hot and heavy when the fabric dragged just right over the head of his cock. He undid the other clasp on Pole’s shoulder and let the fabric fall to the floor.

Underneath the white shift, Pole was wearing white briefs, a size too tight to be his. The club must have provided it for him. Miong rubbed his hand over the bulge of Pole's crotch and was pleased to see Pole’s breath stutter. He grabbed Pole’s hands and held it tightly to his chest. He stepped forward, rubbing his cock against Pole’s, pressing hard kisses to his jaw as Pole gasped softly against him. Miong pressed his nose to the side of Pole’s head, letting Pole bury his face in Miong’s neck. He grabbed Pole’s ass and ground harder against him, loving the heavy drag of the fabric between them, the heat of their bodies, the press of Pole’s cock against his, the sweat beading on Pole’s skin.

“Sir,” Pole moaned. “Sir, I’m close.”

Miong ground harder against him, whispering into his ear. “Don’t come without my permission.”

Pole hissed and clung to him. “Please, sir, I don't want to disobey you. I’ll come if you don’t stop.”

Miong took a deep shuddering breath and pulled away from him.

Pole swayed on his feet when Miong took a step back.

“Don’t come, Pole,” Miong reminded him. “We’ve just started.”


End file.
